


Who I am

by ValTash



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Plot, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Fuckbuddies, Hurt Peter, I Hope Y'all Like Not Feeling So Good, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is a Little Shit, Really Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Wade Wilson Being an Asshole, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValTash/pseuds/ValTash
Summary: I'm bad at summaries, but basically:- Peter woke up in a world broken for the past 5 years, just recovering from the imbalance it suffered- While most slowly found themselves again, he started to spiral out of control- After being left with a broken home and another dead father (to the universe's enjoyment)- 90% of the population had to worry about replacing a car (while having fucking insurance)- The friendly neighborhood spider grew to be a rare sight, and the following reappearances were chaotic, even ended with heavy hospital bills for the offenders- Unstable catastrophes seem to attract one another.(You may like listening to music while reading, if so I recommend those to get in the feels)Peters' old IPod:1: I'll die anyway - girl in red ♪2: I think I'm OKAY - MGK, Yungblud & Travis Barker ♪3: Prey - TNBH ♪4: BITE - Troye Sivan ♪5: Sunsetlover (slowed down) - PETIT BISCUIT ♪6: Sunflower - Post Malone, Swae Lee ♪Wades' broken radio:1: Crazy Love - TNBH ♪2: Swim - Chase Atlantic ♪3: Me - the 1975 ♪4: The Beach - TNBH ♪5: Triggered - Chase Atlantic ♪





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what to tell you, I just wanted ppl to feel my sick mind fucks that occur when I'm alone and neglected.  
(Also this is really short and I actually didn't want to upload it yet but now it happened and I panicked but I'm good now I just gave up so take this dirty first scrap until I update it, the next chapter in the making is about 4x as long and I'm not done yet so there may be hope yet yeet)  
Enjoy:

Peter sighed heavily. He's been tapping his foot impatiently for the past 5 minutes, waiting in line to get a hotdog from some run-down stall near Queens, outskirts. He had exactly 20 minutes left before his biology class started and he was a good mile away from school. At least it felt like that since he had to wait for the bus and then run 4 blocks.

His little attention directed at the grease man handing out the goods was shattered as someone bumped into his back, carelessly. It wasn't violently, nor on accident, he figured while already in motion to turn. But the anger rising in his stomach (and constant hunger) took any doubt and replaced it with a snappy comeback.

"Watch it, jerk." Not the most literate way of telling someone off, but he didn't plan for this either. He was already kind of regretting insulting this wannabe stranger until he finally got a glance at them. Peter's expression instantly darkened and any sort of empathy seemed to be washed away by the tall man before him, instantly starting to get into his personal space yet again.

"Big mouth for such a little girl." Peter recognized him after a few moments and had to suppress a grin. He was part of a small street gang near Brooklyn, up and coming business. Peter has some quite fond memories of webbing up his friends, while this big ass ran for his life. Like a little girl. Too bad that this whole "ur mom gay" vibe really didn't do it for Peter.

"I've seen girls more threatening than you. Afraid you'll piss yourself running off?" Peter straightened his back slightly, even if involuntarily. He wouldn't reach the other in height on his tippy toes though. Good thing that he didn't need to. However, the slight confusion, followed by anger, did scream abort mission. Dropping hints on how Peter saw the man run for his life last night did not seem a smart approach, but Peter grew quite tired of being smart about things anyway. The Thug was free to follow him, bring the whole gang while he's at it, would make it easier to get them off the streets.

Behind the cockblock of a man, three others came into view, one asking with a slurred voice what the hold up was about, another cracking his knuckles in some cheesy intimidation move. People around them grew restless and uneasy and some went on to leave. The hotdog guy didn't seem too appreciative of Peter for having "started" this.

"Why don't we see how fast you can run? Just down this ally. We could see what you keep in your big girl pants." For a moment Peters was confused and lowkey surprised until he concluded the musky man most likely meant it as a threat for money, not other...assets. He cursed himself, disgusted that such a thought even crossed his mind. Continuing on deeply mortified at the soft jolt it sent down his spine. He should end this, or he'd not only get to school hungry but also late.

"Don't see the need. How about we arrange a little play-date. A bit tied up at the moment." Peter looked away for a moment, watching the thugs shift. Turning back at them he tried to put on the cockiest and dumbest grin he physically could. " Carter Street, 38, my treat. I'll show you what little girl I am." He hissed, pushing past the man sunning himself in his acted naivete. This really shouldn't work, but on them it did. Peter swallowed a chuckle.

"You better show or we need to find you, Cocksucker." Peter almost stopped in his steps as he rushed away, his mouth suddenly extremely dry. _Ok, now they did make it sexual, he's not crazy right? No, that was nothing but an insult, what the fuck Parker?_

He didn't hear any follow-up, nor did his senses indicate any imminent danger (like one of them following him, or such). Holding his temples he let out an agitated sigh, stopping at a red traffic light. Peter couldn't really be _this_ sexually frustrated as to think about...what, force play like that? This wasn't some bad porno and he sure as hell didn't plan on getting raped any time soon. 

Actually thinking about any of this for more than 2 seconds made him threw up a little in his mouth.

So his day began, arriving 31 minutes late, sitting through biology while his stomach basically called on armageddon, all the while thinking back on how disgusting he found himself for the next 10 hours.

However, Peter wasn't the only one enjoying a good session of self-loathing.

[[_Stop Stop STOP_, oh my god you're gonna make me puke!]]

"We both know you can't, but I catch the hint.", said Wade, turning away from his reflection in the shopping window. He was shrouded in a hoodie, washed-out jeans, thick tinted sunglasses, and a surgical mask, but he himself easily pinpoint little spaces of ragged skin that might show (usually his forehead, which is why he keeps his gloved hands busy by messing with the hood 90% of the time).

[We could have done worse, last time we forgot our gloves. That was a ride.]

[[Pathetic, really. Can't even remember little stuff like that.]]

"Man, catching that woman that tripped sure was a hassle.", he mused, thinking back, while walking down the rather busy street. The afternoon traffic was booming while he kept tp ignoring any stares he received from his little monolog.

[But you didn't try.]

"Exactly." Crossing the street he felt a breeze hitting him, his entire body tensing momentarily as he reached for his hood.

[[Coudn't we just fucking order something? This is so dumb, not like we're short on cash after that detour to S.H.I.E.D]]

For once Wade didn't plain out ignored Yellow (or tried to, really, he didn't have any choice but to listen to him spew suicidal demands without end), and actually answered in a somewhat serious tone:

"Let's not do those too often. Get the feeling we're not Fury's favorite superhero and he does still hold out on any gossip related to his newest prison tech."

[[He appears to be into some sort of galactic trash can or something, if you can trust our snooping. Which we can.]]

[Science talk is so boring, just like the whole wiring and downloading was. Least we got to shoot some people in the face.]

[[You're such a waste of space I might just-]]

He raised his head slightly as he saw a figure approach, a little hunch of curiosity spiking his senses. You meet the best people in alleys, as they say.

[[No one, ever, says that.]]

"Hush now, Gregory."

To his surprise, they seemed to be rather uncommon for the usual alley customer, a short-ish looking high schooler with a firm, yet somehow dead, expression isn't what you'd expect to stomp away at sunset in some backstreet.

It put a sly smile on the merc's face, for some reason. Probably a Whitey reason. The mentioned voice did not feel very attentive though, humming to himself about greasy fast foods to inhale. Yellow he could feel smile (metaphorically). Their reasons differentiating though, if he knew the own ghosts in his head.

[[Looks like someone's having a bad day~]]

[Aw. Too bad. So like, we're still hungry, can we go eat now?]

The highschooler peaked up as he drew closer, throwing some undirected shade at Wade, which prompted a momentary short circuit. He barely managed to cut off the soft gasp that headed for his mouth.

[Holy _FUCK_, can we eat _that_?? ?]

[[Come on, like he'd talk to you, let alone touch you. "Confidence" or "Sexappeal" isn't part of Wade Shitshow Wilson. You're nothing without that spandex suit of yours.]]

"I don't get that reference, and frankly I'm offended."  
"What?"  
[oh shit.]  
[You fucked up, might as well just kill him now and spare us the embarrass-]

  
"Oh- Hello there-", Wade backpaddled, letting loose of some primal talk. Since that always worked _wonderfully_. "What's someone like you doing in a place like this?"

Peter just stared at him, eyes narrowing to a what-the-fuck expression, sweetened by a tad of disgust.

  
[[Could you come up with anything worse?]]

  
"This supposed to be a robbery?", the shorter then continued, looking weirdly determined and unwavering. Maybe not as much of a gloomy nerd then, Wade thought. Maybe that disgust went to the speech, not the look. What a little gent.

"What, my smile not good enough?"  
"Hard to tell, behind all that cloth."

Wade understood what the teen was getting at, the excessive coverage (ironically, over his mouth too. Great going Wilson, showing off your big brains), but he couldn't help and turn this around, make it sound just as bad as a burglar (if not 10 times worse). Not that he particularly cared for coming onto the young guy. He probably should have, at least a bit.

  
"Want me to strip?", Wade cooed with slight amusement, leaving the high schooler delightfully unimpressed. If he ever got what he wanted where would the world end up?

"Not up for filth in a dirty alley tonight, thanks.", Peter spoke lowly, with a defiant expression, bumping into the taller man's arm (he didn't quite reach his shoulder) as he went on to leave. Wade turned around, eyes nearly glued to the boys head.

  
"I get that a lot.", he cackled poorly, his everything too busy with staring. "The filth and dirt, equally. If you change your mind just keep...to the trash..."

[[Well, if you're looking for a pity fuck then you're still doing badly.]]

Wade lost his train of thought near the end of his talk. While something about the teen screamed nerd in crisis (the messy clothing and pale face, mainly), he kept his pants awfully tight and form-fitting, so that was a pretty nice broadcast for Wade to follow instead of doing anything else, like _thinking _for example.

Sadly, said display vanished after a few seconds around a corner, leaving the merc out of it, to say the least.

  
[Hey, what were we doing again?]  
[[ironic that you'd forget abou-]]  
  
[So hungry, let's eaaaat, get some fucking food already you freakshow!]

  
His head twitched for a moment at the high-frequency bullshit going on. He pounded his hand against his temple as if giving a stuttering machine a forceful push and directed his attention down the alley once more.  
"Yeah, food, right. Let's do that."

[Finally! Burritos stuffed to the brim, 13x, that good BBQ sauce, bagels soaked in any dips we can buy~ A bottle of whiskey, but the good kind- no no no wait: _Tequila_]

[[That thai guy down 13th, near central. One bottle worth of shots.]]


	2. Nightwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter sets out for a nightly patrol, wanting to clear his mind or just find a sufficient distraction.  
He runs into Deadpool. Things go south pretty quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suicidal tendencies going strong in this one,  
mildly strong/sexual language,  
mildly sexual content overall (just some touching, like really not that hard yet sry folks)  


He slightly cringed at his phone, the intensity of light blinding him in the dark.

_10:36 pm_

Peter slipped out the window, scaling the outer walls until he reached the rooftop illuminated by busy streets and towers. For a moment he decided to just sit down, let his feet dangle off the edge and pull out an energy drink he kept in a musty black backpack (his personal roof storage, you could say).

A cold breeze hit his face and he inhaled it deeply, sighing out the fresh air. He sunk a bit deeper into his wide bomber jacket and it floated gently in the wind. Wearing it now, right before jumping off this roof, made him feel so secure. For some odd reason.

It's been a trend for the teen, as of late. He kept on wearing clothes over his suit. Nothing too restricting, of course, yet this rather neat (put in comparison to the rest of his wardrobe) jacket made him feel at home.

The dark olive avoided being too much of an eye-catcher, while the thin but crunchy nylon fabric did make it a bit harder to sneak. He'd keep his sneakers on too, which also posed the problem of making him slip from time to time (the less direct contact, the less he sticks), but they were a gift and this wasn't about practicality. He couldn't care less about that.

All this did was make him feel like...himself, but better. The illusion of the old days, being a hero. Like _he_ used to be that hero. Not a ghost under its skin with no name, no face, nothing but a far of dream. A fake, basically.

Everything felt too unreal for too long. After the initial months of shock, Peter wasn't so sure who he was anymore, with them gone. _Him_ gone. Pretty much all he ever did, all he was now, was the work of someone else.

He had a hard time telling what was truly him and what was some big nightmare, societal expectations, and pressure, something he may have never wanted in the first place but got put on his shoulders because _that is what super-people had to do_.

He was a hero, supposedly, but Peter sure didn't feel like it. Whenever he put on that mask he became Spiderman, he became confident, strong, collected and ready for anything. But that wasn't Peter. He wasn't even sure if it was Spider-man anymore.

He tried to be better, tried to do what he said and make this suit apart if himself, not rely on it- but he just couldn't. Not anymore. Maybe never again.

Peter was just some tired high-school student that woke up from a comatose dream after 5 years to lose the family he made himself. He was alone again. But this time with supreme baggage.

If his bathroom mirror reflection ever held any resemblance to Spider-man or a hero, then he sure managed to fuck that up too.

He had no real objective that night (to no one's surprise). Spiderman got canceled the first time he accidentally blew up a bank and got some robbers really badly injured.

"Reckless", "Unstable", "Compromised", "Not himself" they said. He clicked his tongue, clenching his fist around the aluminum can and crushed it in his hand. Not a second later he hauled it off the building while coughing into the back of his hand, softly choking on prickling substance. _Spot on, huh?_

It was weird to hear it from them though, Pepper and Rhodes. Even Harley. It should have been Steve high-horsing about morals and the need for caution while supporting him none the less. Nat balancing this weird line of cold objectivity and loving empathy. And...

But then the ass(hole) of this nation retired, going back in time to live out his best life and now visited whenever his old bones felt like it. Peter wished he would've gotten that choice. Thinking of it now, right here, he probably couldn't stomach just leaving all of this to rot on its own.

The teen's body tensed, stomach tying into a knot. He just _left_ them. How could he leave, after all, that happened? After all that went down? Didn't he care just a tiny bit?

But well, now Steve's dying of old age (-and Peter gets called irresponsible), while the latter fell to her death for a shiny stone, so where's the point.

With a long sigh, Peter lets himself fall flat, back on the ground and face starring at a cloudy sky. No star in sight. It's a city, after all, he wouldn't see any anyway.

If he'd be on some farm, or just in the woods, far away, then maybe he would see some. He'd just have to go long enough. That sounded pretty nice in his head.

He groaned at his spiraling thoughts, rubbing his masked eyes. Right now felt like a great time to go and beat up some gang members or rapists or whatever New York had to offer, get his mind out of this pity gutter. With this city, he could at least count on baddie delivery.

Sliding his mask back down fully he pushed himself off the ground, straightening his jacket. He threw a look back to the edge of the roof, just a few steps away. Slowly, he closed the distance, almost sluggishly, watching down at the passing traffic and blurry lights as he reached the end.

Peter was 9 stories high, feeling as though he was staring into a starry abyss of gold, orange, and certain reds. Another sigh escaped him, barely audible.

He closed his eyes, a nonchalant feeling washing over him. Arms raised themselves, his weight gravitated forwards and he let himself fall.

Straight down into the cold night air, eyes still shut and concentrating on the loud wind and traffic that grew in volume the instant his body faced it.

_1,_

The sound of traffic turned into screams, coming right from behind his ear, straight to his brain. An inhumane frequency.

_2,_

_Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes, open-_

His eyes shot open, just a few centimeters above a car speeding through the junction. He scarcely managed to miss the concrete ground, hovering over it, wrist straining at the sudden pull it suffered.

Peter moved rapidly between the laine to dodge more cars, just centimeters away from him and he thought he might have just gone deaf at the honking and screeching of tires coming to a halt.

He pulled himself up to a skyscraper with a rushed shot of webbing and pushed his back into the windowfront, sinking in on himself. His heart was racing 200m/s, one hand reluctantly let loose of the glass to clutch his chest. Peter just remained still for a moment, breathing heavily and staring down the traffic that went back to normal as if nothing happened.

The screaming of his sense was deafening, leading up to the explosion of adrenaline, which took longer to register but felt so much more pleasant and intense- It gave him a rush like nothing else really could.

Yet it only stayed like this for about 20 seconds before he was back to nothing, back to tiresome numbness and boredom.

At least he got some of his juices flowing that way. He felt awake, as though he just downed a barrel of coffee spiked with some goods. Feeling particularly lively? not really, but well, some people may suffer such a condition this very moment, he should lend a hand. He could've done worse than an all-nighter feeling.

After another quiet and stiff few seconds, he shot a string of web diagonally across the street and let himself drop, keeping high off the streets for the remaining self-declared watch.

/////

After about 10 minutes Peters focus had shifted from actually deliberately helping people to just distracting himself and clear his head.

He kept panning back to...everything. All the time. That big fight on Titan, that big fight on earth, all the times he fucked up and everyone else had to pay.

Not even his damn homework could distract him from the shit that was his daily life, and he tried, desperately. It just drained his energy even more, so he dropped trying to do it.

He got in trouble for that multiple times now, but he was still able to wing most tests and quizzes to constant slightly-below-average.

Ned showed at his place constantly, which would have been nice, if it wasn't for him being worried about Peter all the time. He got it, he was declining in pretty much any retrospect.

His grades dropped, he lost some weight, he didn't sleep for days- but not one of them had any idea as to fixing this besides "go see a therapist", which he wasn't and couldn't do.

_Oh yeah, hi, I'm like, spider-man and so I was in space and now my mentor and friends are dead because I just kept fucking everything up._

At least most of the Avengers (or those who are left) agreed that wouldn't work out on many levels. To Peter's demise, however, Peppers' solution to that was talking about everything with her and the team.

Spideys head shut up mid-flight at the sound of shattering glass and his senses switching to red-light. He didn't even realize where he was passing through right now.

He looked around, taking in the old docks. The sound came from an old and run-down fire station. It seemed vacant, but that wasn't true it seemed.

He redirected himself by landing on a brick wall of an old apartment block, setting off down the street to his left.

The moment he landed on the roof of the warehouse two shots echoed through the night. He flinched slightly, heart skipping a beat. Another 5 shots followed and his body tensed, keeping him in a low crouch.

So he wasn't going crazy after all, the shattering glass from 20 meters afar was a bit of a stretch, but the gunshots embodied trouble. Quite literally.

There were no other buildings of notice around, only aged fences and disregarded dumps and about 3 similar empty warehouses.

And a small humming from down within. Spideys head twitched lightly, trying to concentrate on the sound. It reminded him of someone singing, but the moment he thought he could make something out it vanished again.

Out of effect, he pressed his ear against the concrete, trying to listen for...something. People, voices, bits of conversations (though that seemed a slim chance). Everything kept quiet for a few more minutes.

He further smushed himself into the ground as though it would enhance his hearing in any way. It was a thoughtless and dumb move. And the universe loved punishing him for lowering his guard.

He should have probably seen something coming, it always did at times like this, but that it had to be _him_ was just cruel.

A rough hand hit his ass in an equally rough motion, jolting a gasp from Spidey, who then flipped over and instantly decked the intruder straight in the chin, using his left foot. There was a soft crunch.

The taller staggered backward, almost losing balance, but caught himself last second.  
A displeased growl vibrated off the man's chest, until the sound of disapproval climbed a few octaves, turning whiny and losing its threat in favor of an exaggerated pout.

"Rude." The merc huffed a bit sulky, rubbing his chin in an overdramatic fashion.

Spidey was still on his back, propped on his elbows and he quickly tried to lower his ragged breath. That gave him way too big of a scare to accept right now.

How come that his spider senses rarely picked up the mercenary? _Ever?_

Looking at Deadpool now, here in his immediate surroundings, the 6th sense actually managed to gather the needed audacity to point at the towering, build man armed to the teeth and give off an _"oh yeah, no, he's bad news"_ vibe.

Peter sighed heavily and resisted the urge to let his elbows slack and himself drop to the floor once more. That uneasy feeling was back, settling in now (like it usually).

His building headache urged him to just relax his tensed muscles, lay down and forget about this, go to sleep, but it takes no genius to know that's a bad idea around-

"Can't blame me, Baby Boy. You're the one hanging around shady rooftops on your knees. If that's a new pastime, please, go right ahead, don't let me distract you.", hummed the merc.  
He lowered himself into a crouch, elbow resting on his thigh, allowing his clenched fist to support his head balanced on his chin.

The Thinker pose managed to push Peter over the edge, draining a long groan from the agitated teen.

The high schooler got up quickly, his appreciation for the intense gaze he was being probed by reaching new lows.  
He moved away from the merc and to the door a few meters to his right ( which in 10/10 times lead to a descending staircase).

Since Deadpool showed up it has been quiet again, but he had to admit that he has gotten pretty...distracted, so he wasn't too sure. He'd have noticed any more gunshots, that was a certain fact.

A thoughtful sound vibrated from behind him. He didn't want to give Deadpool the light of day by turning around and comforting his paranoia by checking just how close he killer was, but it sounded like he hadn't moved. For now.

As if on cue, he could hear the subtle shifting of leather.  
"Wouldn't have thought you'd show out and add a jacket to the look. Not saying it doesn't suit you, anything and way less does, but it impedes the view.", spoke the mercenary, as though he was objectively criticizing a piece of modern art.

For a moment Spidey wanted to bang his head against the solid-looking steel door, then he considered webbing Deadpools mouth shut.  
But, as annoying the merc could be with his catcalling and grabbing, he was also easily directed and bossed around. Spidey wasn't dumb enough to take that as a given personality trait.

Spideys head twitched slightly to his left and he swiftly turned around, on high alarm, though doing his best to seem casual and nonchalant.  
He let his hands disappear in his big pockets, straightening his arms and weighing the jacket down in the process. He ensured his annoyed frown was obvious even through the mask.

Deadpool stood in front of him, barley far enough for mild comfort. He moved way too silently for someone this loud.  
It irked the shit out of Peter.

"Huh. Back to Homecoming, I see-" He was looking down at him, slightly crooking his head.  
"Would've thought you'd stick with the Bugatti, did look pretty shiny, and those glowing eyes~" The merc chuckled, loving every second of this. He usually did.  
"The guy that came up with the car joke must have pissed himself."

Spidey sighed, the merc was back to talking to himself. He wasn't about to listen to any more of his rambling, time was running pretty short. The last shots he had heard must date back a couple of minutes by now.

"Can you kick in that door?" The shorter asked, earning a smug smile from the merc that would've been apparent through anything.

"You bet sweet-cheeks, I expect a kiss afterward though." Of course, Deadpool instantly moved to action.

Peter wasn't going to waste the rest of his precious time staying conscious on contemplating the mercs trippy behavior, so instead, he growled weakly and rubbed his temples.

The teen started shuffling backward, away from the door. Deadpool kept eye contact all the way, turning his body along to face Spideys until the other came to a halt. He was about 5 steps from the entrance, motioning his head towards the door in a suggestive gesture.

"Then you can wait a long time.", Spidey finally managed to respond.  
Peter essentially radiated sleazy annoyance, his shoulders slumped wearily, forehead pulled into a frown and eyes failing at keeping all the way open, sleep weighing them down.

With a wink and smile, that sent a weird sensation down the spiders back, the merc set out to do the deed. Fortunately, there was no time for Peter to think about that, since the gun for hire already turned to face the door and moved back in long strides (after cinematically calculating the kick with his foot of choice).

With no time to grow impatient on Peters part, the merc swiftly moved towards his target and hurled a (literal) bone-shattering kick at it.

Spidey cringed at the sound, unlike the injured. It did not help to see Deadpool bend down and sigh at his broken shin like he just stepped into something. Spidey would never grow used to that.

But before the teen could voice anything (not like he knew what to say), the mercenary was standing upright again, having straightened the shin in some fashion, he figured. Deadpool now leaned into the open doorframe with a shit-eating grin and extravagant pose, looking fine.

Fine as in able to walk without any pain. Not the other kind. _Concentrate, Parker._

Peter reluctantly stepped closer, cursing inside his mind as he had to push past Deadpool.  
The momentary brush against his chest, connecting to the other man's upper arm (since the merc couldn't be bothered to make any more room besides letting his hand drop from his waist) remembered Peter to never again step outside when his thoughts wavered so easily.

/ / / /

Spiderman picked up in speed as he descended inside the stairwell, to lose Deadpool, to check in on the situation inside, to not think about the soft heat on his face- whatever it was, it wasn't enough to be rid of the merc (as expected), but did speed things up.

It took them a minute, give or take, to arrive inside a basement, 3 floors below the ground. He was checking in on any other door and level on his way, listening for noise -anything- but all he could hear was the sporadic rattling of something burning up from the lower levels.

His restlessness and confusion grew with each turn and he looked back to the mercenary, which appeared to look around like he did, but Spidey could see him turn his head the moment he did.

Something about this place was wrong, worse than a couple of shots inside an empty warehouse. He felt like he was about to descend into some sort of lion's cave, without any idea who or what was down there.

The eerie silence from the merc with a mouth did nothing to soothe Peter's nerves.

Spidey came to a halt before a white door that screamed "high tech laboratory" and did not fit with the rest of the place. This was new, clearly, and being so near made the low constant buzz intensify.

Deadpool pushed up beside Spidey, suddenly snapping back to attention, and the latter slid away, inspecting the door with just a little less finesse.

"So-", the teen spoke up after a moment, clearing his throat, yet cut himself off quickly upon noticing a small panel to the right-hand side of the door.

"-access control...looks like we'll need a keycard." The spider whispered, moving over to get a better look. This wasn't his kind of thing, though. Ned would have been better to help with this, a bit at least. Or Karen, he supposed. But he had her muted a while back with Ned's help. Her voice hurt.

Deadpool, again, just rumbles in response and it annoyed Spidey just as much as it put him off. He didn't like how loud the silence has gotten with only him talking.

It provoked his thoughts to spiral back down into some hole and he wasn't about to suffer another little breakdown session in front of the professional and manic killer.

As the merc moved closer the teen raised his head to look at him in confusion, but relented quickly and stepped away.

Not 5 seconds could pass; the mercenary whipped out a white and blue keycard from his back pocket, slit it through the authenticator and the light above the door lid up green.

Peter was pretty sure he just stood frozen for a few seconds, watching his company with new anger and panic.  
Deadpool raised his hands in a yielding manner, once again, but he carried himself way too casual and relaxed to make it feel genuine.

"Yeah, ok, I may have left out some details. Don't tell Ca- ah, shouldn't go there. Don't worry honey-bunch, I swear I'll be in and out before you realize it. Scouts honor." The merc spoke, arms still raised while backing up into the facility.

Spideys body was locked in a defensive pose by the time the man was done speaking. The smaller shook his head slowly, stalking forward until he ran in after the nonchalant maniac.

The door moved and shut close behind him.

_Not good. Not good at all._

He turned away from the now tightly closed entrance, quickly scanning the area for his very own lunatic. He wasn't getting out here without him now. _Perfect._

Deadpool was looking around the place while in a casual strode, a cold and white laboratory filled to the brim with plastic-looking tech.

Some high tech chemistry stations (Spidey figured), 10 of them in all white, empty except for neatly arranged tools.  
They stood in a firm order inside the big hall and most looked the same, with a few exceptions near the end, growing in size and accompanied by nightmarish looking restrictions.  
The place appeared as though it was brand new, unused, freshly unwrapped.

Peter's heart began racing. He had seen something like this before somewhere, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

This whole set up, the arrangement, the design..._he's seen something similar to this_.

He snapped back to reality upon noticing the only red dot in his vision disappear around a corner.  
Spidey broke into a sprint, rushing to catch up and all the while trying to form a coherent speech in his head to throw at the merc.

Once he finally caught up to the taller he grabbed his muscular arm, pulling the merc back to look at him. _Now, to answers. Actual answers._

Peter realized he hadn't quite finished with forming this annihilating string of questions yet.

The whole way here he just cussed under his breath, repeating the same in his mind while a cluster (that was his mind) tied into a knot. There was so much he didn't understand, like-

"What the **fuck**!?"

Shit, he didn't mean to say that one out loud.  
His sense, _everything_, was shrieking, drumming in his ears similarly to his heartbeat and developing headache, and the added ringing did not help him stay concentrated.

This was really bad, something about this was really _really_ bad.

"I mean- how do you know of this place? What is this? What do you want here? And how the hell did you get that keyca-"

His crumbling speech was swiftly cut off when a leather glove shoved itself over his mouth.  
He was about to protest and step back, but Deadpool grabbed his waist in a restricting way, eyes trained down the empty hallway.

For a moment nothing happened, the merc didn't move and Peter didn't breathe, starring up and then down the hall with wide eyes and an irregular heartbeat.

Spidey finally recovered, grabbed the mercenary by the wrist that was snaked around him and about to rip it away, when the lead of the two spun them around towards the right side of the hallway.

The hand on Spideys mouth moved in order to open the simple-looking white door and the teen suddenly gasped at the free airflow.

He hadn't realized just how firm the hand over his mouth actually was until it departed and he fully jumped back to the present. He wanted to punch Deadpool in the face.

He was pulled into the poorly lit room and just watched the merc close the door behind them.

Then they just..._waited_.

The teen hissed quietly: "What are you-"  
Now he could hear them too, footsteps, far off chatter. How didn't he realize people were coming? Shouldn't his senses-

He wanted to groan, but instead, just allowed his head to sink into his hands.  
His sense had been going off since Deadpool first popped up on the roof, but now it was a constant stream of loud noise, bright lights and uncomfortable tingling in his skull.

_Everything hurt_. He had no idea if that was happening because he was exhausted and sleepy (_= overly paranoid_) or if it aligned with this feeling of overall dread that this place conveyed, but he was running on max and not coming down.

That was the moment he stopped paying attention to his senses all together and just...shut down, for a minute.  
Of course, he couldn't just_ shut down_ and literally ignore his spider-sense, nor his aching head or slow reactions and blinded bright view.

All he knew and cared about was that he felt like shit and would love to leave, _now_.

For a moment, he just stood there, everything around him still. He listened to the steps drawing closer. Heels and duller shoes, boots maybe. He could hear them talk about some sort of Projekt. "Neverland" they called it, but he couldn't be bothered.

He wanted to lay down and sleep. Everything in this place seemed too heavy. Almost oppressing.  
His head drooped, leaning against something warm that almost made him sigh, but he caught noise before it could leave him.

The two people passed them after a few seconds, or hours, Peter couldn't tell.  
He finally let out a still suppressed sigh, without thinking about it much. It wasn't one of relief though, more so one of the pain and exhaustion.

"Sorry about that." Something set down on his head, urging his eyes open wide_. When did he close them?_

"Love to hear you talk all day, Baby Boy, just not with some mad scientists ruining the moment."

Peter actually jumped in surprise.  
He had totally forgotten that he wasn't alone, stood here with _Deadpool_, of all people.  
The other was so still over the course of that scnene unfolding, Peter couldn't even hear him breathe. Maybe he didn't need to. Peter wasn't sure if he needed too.

Spideys eyes slowly dart down to his waist, registering both the hand still stuck around him and newly settled on his head.  
His exhaustion was quickly replaced by annoyance and embarrassment.

He pushed the larger away, satisfied as the merc hit a table with a light wheeze, air pushing out his lungs. _We do breathe. Good._

As long as Deadpool didn't weight more than a large van, Spidey could easily keep the other in check. Well, the distance between them, at least. For the most part.

Deadpool didn't seem to mind the push, or really care at all. He already went back to looking around the room.  
As the merc noticed a desk at the far end of the room he continued into a swift stroll.

Spidey turned his attention to their surroundings as well. This seemed to be some sort of office. Or something.  
It was pretty small but there was a bookcase standing in the far left corner with a comfy-looking easy chair, giving the whole place a sophisticated touch.

There was a nameplate on the desk and Spidey followed the mercs steps up to the desk.

** _ ' _ ** _ Dr. Prof. Loren Harper'_

The name rang no bells and so the high schooler dropped it, about to look around further, before he realized that his company turned his full concentration towards the expensive computer seated on the wooden desk.  
It was made out of glass for the most part, which was weird and pleasing at the same time.

Spidey crossed his arms, grinding his teeth slightly as he got back on track.  
"Why are you here?" He growled but Deadpool did not appear to turn his attention to the boy any time soon.  
"Why are_ you_ here?" The other retorted, without raising his eyes from the screen even once.  
"I'm not in the mood for games, Deadpool."  
"I know, you never are." A melodramatic sigh followed as he reached into one of the drawers at the height of his thighs, attention still elsewhere.   
"You have no idea what great things I'd have in mind. Wasted potential."

Spidey cringed slightly but shook his head internally. This was Deadpools way of scaring him out of a conversation. He was going to get some answers, but it seemed he'd have to work them out of him, step by step.

Spideys gaze shifted to the mercs hands, which were holding a small, round device.

"What is that?" He asked, but only received a shrug. The merc placed it on the table and turned back to the display of the computer, simultaneously pulling out a small USB and sticking it into the minimalistic computer.

Now the time has come that peter grew really fucking tired. He stepped up to the desk, leaning over to stare at the other relentlessly.  
The intrusion did earn him some recognition, but not really the kind he was hoping for.

Deadpool looked at him, Peters frown and narrowed big eyes, watching the mercs every move. With a sigh the gun for hire gazed back down at the small round device on the desk.

His gaze rotated from Spidey to the screen, to the device, back to the screen, back to Spidey-

The latter was about to grab the taller by the collar, yet was interrupted by a heavy sigh.

"I'm probably gonna regret that, but oh well."

He watched the merc pick up the little round tech, about the size of Peter's thumb.

The smaller was millimeters from escaping the gloved hand grabbing him by the throat, but the time it took him to realize was just too long.

"Just relax, yeah?"

He shivered at the serious quality to his counterparts' voice and wanted to yell at him, but that was a bit hard with no airflow. 

He could feel the hand holding him in place shift, middle- and ring finger parting to make some room on his neck.  
Peter's hands clawed at the mercenaries forearm and he could feel himself draw blood, press down on the wrist and dislocate it.

All too late though. He was already being pulled forward, flipped onto his back on the desk, head first to the merc.

Deadpools free hand placed the little device down onto the gap his fingers exposed at Peters' throat and the latter could feel it _puncture_, directly through his mask.

He succeeded in pushing through a confused gasp.  
Then there was a jolt.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I mean life would be boring without that kinda stuff, right?


End file.
